The Geography of Grief
by sinemoras09
Summary: Forget thyself, and all the world, for the stars are watching overhead. Mohinder and Maya talk about Sylar. Genfic, angst. Takes place after Powerless.


"He killed my brother," Maya says. She looks up at Mohinder with terrible eyes. "I cannot even cry for him."

They stand in the soft blue light of Isaac's loft; around them, the floor is littered with broken test tubes and shattered glass. Molly sits on the metal grate steps while Maya dully runs her fingertips across Mohinder's workbench. Mohinder watches Maya's eyes wander from object to object, tracing an invisible line from the laptop to the chalkboard across the room. Mohinder frowns. He moves toward her, about to touch her shoulder, but he reconsiders; he stoops over to pick up his medical kit instead.

"Here," Mohinder says, and he opens up his medical kit. "I'm going to give you hyoscyamine tablets and a scopolamine patch. They'll dry up your secretions. You'll be able to cry safely, if you need to."

"I won't have any tears?" Maya asks. Mohinder shakes his head.

"No, none at all," Mohinder says.

Maya bows her head. Silently, Mohinder opens his doctor's bag and pulls out the patch. "This goes behind your ear," Mohinder says, and he gently brushes her hair back.

"You are very kind," Maya says. Mohinder presses the patch on her skin, his hand pausing at the nape of her neck.

"It's the least I can do," Mohinder says. "Everyone should be allowed to grieve. Your ability should be the least of your worries."

"Thank you," Maya says. She touches the patch with the pads of her fingers.

.

Maya sleeps on Mohinder's bed, and Mohinder takes the couch. Mohinder can't sleep. He winds the bedspread around his shoulders and listens to the soft night sounds that hang in the air like fog: the slight wheeze of Molly's breathing; Matt snoring in the room next door. And barely, just barely, he can make out the sound of Maya crying. Dry-sobbing, Mohinder thinks grimly. He walks toward the bedroom door.

"Maya?" Mohinder knocks, then opens the door slightly. "Are you all right?"

In the dark, Maya is sitting on her hands, perched on the edge of the bed. "I'm fine," Maya says. Mohinder lingers by the door.

"I could make some chai," Mohinder says. "I don't think either of us can sleep right now."

Maya nods. Wordlessly, Mohinder guides her into the kitchen, the naked bulb glowing dimly above them. He sees the shadows crossing her face and the deep creases under her eyes, and when he turns on the tap water and fills the tea kettle, he can almost feel the static silence of Maya's grief seeping around him.

"I kissed him," Maya says. "I kissed him and I...I almost..." She starts to cry again, and Mohinder can see the slight glimmer of black building up at the corners of her eyes.

"Just a moment, I'm going to give you another patch," Mohinder says, and he stands to look for his medical kit. Maya hunches into herself, crossing her arms. There's nothing Mohinder can do but watch her face contort, count the dry sobs that wrack her body. Mohinder was never good with emotions, and now he wishes he could give her some measure of comfort. Instead, all he has to offer are crude medications: he's never felt more inadequate.

Mohinder sets his kit on the table. "Here," he says. He takes out the patch and gently presses it behind her ear.

"Alejandro knew," Maya says. "He knew and I didn't listen to him, and now he's dead and it's all my fault."

"You mustn't feel that way," Mohinder says. "Sylar is very good at what he does--manipulating people for his own gain. He did the same to me: he killed my father, and he pretended to be my friend. So believe me when I say there was no way you could have known."

"He killed your father?" Maya asks. Mohinder nods.

"It's why I came to America," Mohinder says.

The tea kettle whistles and Mohinder stands. He takes out two cups and sets them on the counter, the china rattling softly. He pours the tea and sets the cup down in front of Maya, who takes it from him gratefully. Mohinder sits across from her and sips his chai, slowly. Neither one of them seems to want to speak. Minutes pass, and Maya finally lifts her head.

"Where are you from?" Maya asks.

"India," Mohinder says. "Madras."

Maya nods. "I'm from Santo Domingo," Maya says. "I miss my village. I miss the air. The air is thicker where I come from. Sometimes at night it would feel like the air is wrapping right around me. Here the air feels different. Thinner. I don't like that." She stares at her cup. "Alejandro used to say the night had eyes. That the stars were always watching. It is a children's tale, but sometimes I pretend it is true."

"When the stars are out, you're never alone," Mohinder says. Maya nods. "Yes," she says. She turns the cup over in her hands.

Mohinder traces the rim of his cup with his fingertips, watching Maya's movements. She moves slowly, gracefully, and every time she bows her head, her hair falls in front of her like a thick black curtain. He thinks of Nirand, and Mira, and of balmy Indian nights and the rain that falls relentlessly in the spring. Maya seems to catch his faraway look, because she moves to meet his gaze, brushing her hair back with her hand.

"Do you miss it?" Maya asks. "India?"

"Sometimes," Mohinder says. "When I came to this country, I had no one. It was just me and a taxicab and a head full of ideas. I had no idea what was in store for me. If I knew then what I know now, I might have stayed in Madras."

"You are lonely," Maya says.

Mohinder considers. "I suppose I am," Mohinder says.

Above them, the lightbulb flickers. Maya's face is smooth, placid, and for once her eyes are calm. Mohinder stares at his cup, thinking about what Maya said. Besides Molly, he doesn't really have anyone. He thinks of all the people he works with--Bob, Bennet, Niki. None of them he can really trust. Even Matt, who grows closer to Nathan every day, all they do is argue. He understands how Maya fell for Sylar so quickly; she craved that emotional connection, that quiet reassurance that everything would be okay. _Just like I did_, Mohinder thinks, and he turns his head away, ashamed.

Maya finally falls asleep with Mohinder standing at the doorway. He watches the rise and fall of her belly, the slow, rhythmic movement of her breath. Her eyelids flutter like butterfly's wings, and Mohinder can't help but think that she looks beautiful.

Now he sits on the couch, winding the bedspread around himself. He hears the wind sighing through the street, and the lone sound of footsteps echoing outside. Mohinder leans back against the armrest and closes his eyes. When he falls asleep, he dreams of red cloth and gentle hands, and of warm, balmy air just after a monsoon.


End file.
